Eye Of The Beholder
by warrior of the nile
Summary: Sherlock notices it happening right away. Of course he does, it hardly takes a genius to do so. Not that he does anything about it. Not because he is self-conscious or anything ridiculous like that. But if he can control how much he eats and sleeps, he should be able to control this too. Never mind the part of his brain telling him not to be stupid. Who cares if he needs glasses?


Sherlock noticed it happening right away. Of course he did – he is a genius after all. And it hardly took any intelligence to realize what was happening.

All it took was noticing the board was getting harder to read. That he couldn't clearly see all the details he needed to make his deductions if a person was too far away. That, if he wasn't careful, he would squint at an object that wasn't close enough.

It didn't take a genius to realize Sherlock was becoming nearsighted.

And all it took was a simple item to fix the problem. One that many people wore. Statistically more and more people needed them as the years progressed till they became a common item for people of all ages. Many of the students and the majority of his teachers wore them.

Glasses. All he needed was an eye examination and within a few weeks he would have a pair.

But instead he held his tongue and said nothing. He shouldn't need glasses. He shouldn't. Sherlock had been training his body the way he thinks it should operate. He shouldn't need that much sleep or three meals a day to function. It slowed down his thinking process. It was unnecessary. Why should his eyesight be any different? It's all transportation.

In the back of his mind, Sherlock knows that is illogical. He can't control _everything_ his body does. If he could, he would skip puberty and go straight on with adulthood. And, that pesky part of his mind informs him, he knows very well that is not the only reason. There are others.

Those are the reasons he shouldn't care about, but does. It shouldn't matter to him what his classmates think of him. As previously stated, many of them wear glasses as well. It would be rather hypocritical of them to take issue with his. Not that any of them have a problem with being hypocrites. No, they do that quite nicely. They are also idiots. Why should he care that they are always making fun of him?

Sherlock has never been the most popular boy in school. He has never been popular period. And the morons who he attends classes with take every opportunity they can to remind him of his lack of social standing. He can already hear the unoriginal calls of 'four eyes' and 'bug face' and any other inane insults they think of.

The other – much more sentimental – reason is equally ridiculous. But it holds as much sway as the others. Or rather, he does. One John Watson, captain of the rugby team.

John had just started dating Sherlock two months ago. They are still very much in the 'honeymoon phase' – and what a ridiculous name – of their relationship. Everything is still new and exciting. Or positively nerve racking on Sherlock's part. He has never had a friend before, let alone a _boyfriend._ He is still trying to get all the social cues right. He has never been very good at those.

There are times when it becomes too much for the genius. Sometimes he just stares at John, memorizing his face so he remembers it when they inevitably split. He just can't believe someone as kind and brave and strong as John would want to be with someone like him. Sherlock is very well aware that he is not a likeable person, let alone a loveable one. He has too many sharp edges for that.

It is ridiculous for Sherlock not to want glasses because he is afraid John will not like him in them. Absolutely, positively _ridiculous_. If Sherlock's sharp tongue and moody personality has not done so, why would _glasses_ of all things?

Beauty is a social construct. It is dictated by the media, by fashion/gossip magazines, by idiots who don't know what they are talking about. Then it differs by person as well. Everyone had a different definition of it. For example, John thinks Sherlock is beautiful – and yes, that is the word he used – while everyone else thinks he's weird and 'freaky looking'. John likes his eyes while the majority of people have trouble meeting them.

It should be beneath him to worry about having to wear plastic and glass on his face. He shouldn't care if they block his eyes or not. That is the _point._

Sherlock knows he could solve this dilemma by getting contacts instead. But if he doesn't want to deal with glasses, he definitely does not want to deal with contacts. Not only do they take more time and maintenance, he has heard too many people complain about them. He doe not want to take time to put them in each morning and take them out each night. He does not want to have to put up with any dry, itchy, irritated eyes. It's all transportation.

So those are the reasons, however irrational they may be, that he does not want glasses. He'll figure something else out. It's fine.

It's Mycroft who rats him out, the bastard. Once he deduces it himself he give Sherlock an oh so superior look – the one that says 'I'm smarter than you' and 'oh grow up brother mine' – and promptly informs Mummy. And thus, two weeks later, Sherlock arrives at school with his brand new pair of glasses.

They are a subtle pair of black rectangular plastic that fit him comfortably. Mummy had fussed over him, telling him how handsome he looked. Father nodded his approval. Mycroft just continued to smirk. Git. He had also made sure Sherlock couldn't simply take them off during school hours. Nosy, interfering git.

Sherlock keeps his head down as he walks to his locker, not drawing any attention to himself. He reminds himself, once again, of all the reasons he shouldn't care what these idiots think of him. He only has one more year after this and he never has to see them again. Except John, obviously. If he still likes Sherlock by then.

"Sherlock!" a voice greets as he opens his locker. Speak of the devil.

"John," he greets back, but doesn't look at him.

"How was that chem test yesterday? You didn't blow anything up did you?"

"Hardly. You would have heard about it if I had. And it wasn't as if it was a challenge. I could have completed it blindfolded."

John chuckles. "I'm sure you could have. Hey, is everything alright?"

"Yes of course. Why would it not be?"

"Because you still haven't looked at me."

Sherlock doesn't say anything, but he doesn't move either. As much as he hates to admit it, he does have emotions. And right now they are getting the better of him.

"Sherlock?" John asks, starting to sound truly worried.

Sherlock sighs. No use dragging this out any longer. "I am fine John. The only thing that happened was Mycroft being an interfering git, but that is hardly unusual."

"What has Mycroft done-" he stops when Sherlock turns to face him and swallows. "Oh. Oh wow," he manages, "You now have-" he has to stop to clear his throat.

"Glasses. Yes John, what a brilliant deduction. I hope that-" Sherlock's sarcastic reply is cut off by a pair of lips on his. A very _enthusiastic_ pair of lips.

"Sorry," John blushes as he pulls away. "It's just... nice glasses?"

Sherlock takes in the flush of his boyfriend's face and the widening of his pupils. "You like them," he states obviously.

"What can I say? You look sexier then usual."

Sherlock snorts. "Really John, don't be ridiculous."

John grins. "Dead sexy," he repeats with another quick kiss.

"Naturally. Now unless you want to be late, I suggest we go."

John grabs Sherlock's hand and laces their fingers together. "Come on then. I hate it when all the seats in the back are taken."

Sherlock nods and happily walks along side him. If this is the kind of greeting he gets, maybe getting glasses wasn't such a bad thing after all.


End file.
